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How The Surrender Happened Inside

I feel something when my eyes see that I don’t want talking to shatter. Always desiring, but desiring desire, wanting inner access, past the gate, but only for the simple strange something sake of getting in, never really wanting to stay, hedging to the vague side of the street to scramble any alterities of signal and noise over the din of found moments and too many persons, a few (maybe the two?) of “us” unnecessary selves popping murti-bings for the imagination of health in the midst of ills, excepting on the basis of the stories we like to tell about who we are and how we’ve arrived coming being becoming here, forming connections, finding meaning, postulating purposefulness for the Great Convenience of ascribing conspicuously high meaning to extraordinarily low probability events, hell-bent on pointing fingers at ingeminate abstractions as though blame will provide some refuge from the usual.

Are you distracted yet, I wonder? You who are enigmatic, cavernous, and irradiating, while I side inside with the alluring separateness of closed doors and sometimes wide flung open windows, thoroughly flouting the principles of plausible deniability. Those trees out there, they are just so much thinking. They sway, and there’s no such thing as absolute right and wrong, only right and wrong now, only ever right now. And wrong now. And what’s wrong now, what’s wrong now. What’s wrong now is this fantasy, you see, perfectly out of focus, this vagary of simple conjunctions tying my very disparateness up in a shoestring-strung stream of apparent consciousness and like all my fantasies it starts with silhouettes and secrets, some extant, desultory presumption of publicity to obscure dreams only a true pathologist could reconcile with reality. I’ll only tell if you truly wish to hear, I whisper from the margins, hounded by an insatiable hunger for definition, and only if you swear promise to keep that of me which to you I do entrust.

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5 thoughts on “How The Surrender Happened Inside”

How the heck you keep on doing this I will never know. This title is …. perfect. And the idea behind it, intoxicating and yes, the very notion of surrender and then someone inhabiting that surrendered moment. I found this unbearably romantic for some reason. Such powerful work doesn’t begin to do justice to this.

I am thrilled by these comments of yours, thank you. Funny thing is, when I was working on this, I didn’t like it, and I was mad at it when I was done. Formally and linguistically it seemed fine, but I felt angst and distress, and some of those old-friend-familiar fragments of self doubt grumbling in the corner about “why do you even bother.” But now I think that all may have stemmed from senses of violation and vulnerability after the surrender. In other words, it was the content that got me, and it got me pretty good. Thank you so much for saying such wonderful things, I’m very pleased you enjoyed it.

I think you absolutely nailed it by saying that it was the unsettling feeling of exposure that may have got to you, because when we surrender it’s intensely uncomfortable. I always have ‘sayers regret’ as I call it, always, and I often want to delete things and sometimes I do, even at midnight, it’s like a sickness, but truly it’s because you HAVE told the truth and it is so uncomfortable to rent yourself that honestly that you feel naked and vulnerable in a really disquieting way and that means you have succeeded though it totally feels like the opposite I hear you I really do I am there also and I think beautiful girl also, we are the band of warriors who spit our truth and sometimes are mocked for it, but let’s try not to mock ourselves because after all what matters more than truth?